Page 51 of A Sinful Night with a Scot
When he smiled, it was a slow and sad expression, revealing several gaps where teeth might have been before.
“I didnae get the honor o’ meeting ye the other night at the feast, me lady,” he began, his voice raspy, but kind. “I am Farlan, the castle healer.”
Relief flooded through Elsie as she gawked at him. “Och, ye must help him,” she cried frantically. “His injuries are deep, and I dinnae ken if he will survive.”
But as excitable as Elsie was, her whole body shaking with fear and worry, Farlan remained steadfast beside her and only nodded slowly.
“We will see,” he said, in a calmness that did not, at all, reflect the situation or her own feelings.
She was about to reply, when Alisdair arrived through the gates. Keane’s head lolled on his chest, betraying the fact that he was no longer conscious. And then, a great fuss began. Five men surrounded the horse, each nodding at Alisdair when he told them to go slow and easy.
Once Keane was off the horse, the soldiers laid him in a cot that had been waiting for him. A cot the men had gathered only moments after Elsie had arrived and told them their laird was in trouble. Four men then took hold of a protruding pole, one at each corner, and Farlan led the way to the cottage.
Alisdair and Elsie followed behind, she still wringing her hands with worry.
“He’ll come through,” Alisdair said. “He’s strong.”
“Strong he may be,” Elsie said, while the soldier’s carried the laird into Farlan’s cottage, “but when death comes, and he is ready fer us, none o’ us can refuse him.”
Alisdair gave her a thoughtful look, but did not reply. Instead, they waited until the soldiers returned from inside the cottage. Two of them now carried the empty cot. Only then, did they venture forth inside.
Farlan was cutting away Keane’s shirt when they stepped into the room. Already, the makeshift dressing Elsie had made from her underskirts was soaked through. Instead of the white it had been before, it was now a slick blackening red color, the sight of which made her gasp.
“Oh, God.”
Keane’s eyelids fluttered open and looked at her. His breathing was erratic, his face gray, and a sheen of sweat covered his brow. He lifted his hand out, and without hesitation, Elsie hurried to him and took hold of it.
“I’m going tae slip away from ye soon,” he croaked. “I want ye tae ken how grateful I am fer what ye did.” He gazed at her, his eyelids beginning to fall. “Ye could’ve let me die. Ye could’ve let them take ye…”
And then his voice trailed off, and his hand loosened in hers.
“Nay!” she shrieked.
Alisdair, who had moved over to the other side of the bed, swiftly bent at the waist and pressed his ear to Keane’s chest. He stilled, listening for a few more seconds, before he stood again, his face grave.
“His heart is still beating, though it is faint.” He then looked at Farlan. “What chance daes he have?”
Farlan shook his head slowly. “That, I cannae tell ye, Alisdair. But I assure ye, I will dae all I can. Perhaps it might be better if ye took Lady Mackay back tae the castle.”
“Nay!” Elsie barked. “I’m nae leaving his side.”
The old man gave her a steady look, before nodding his head. “Very well. But I warn ye, this isnae going tae be a pretty sight.”
“I dinnae care,” Elsie argued.
And with a final nod, Farlan bent his head and continued to work. But as Elsie looked down at Keane, she couldn’t help but wonder if the words her new husband had spoken to her might be his last.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Astrange mist swirled around him as he wandered about in the darkness. He could feel nothing beneath his feet, as though he were floating. The silence was near deafening, for there was not even the sound of light wind passing by his ears. As hard as he tried, Keane could not see anything in front of him, nor, when he turned, could he see anything behind. It was a never-ending swirling mist that did not change, no matter what direction he moved.
From his peripheral vision, he caught sight of a light. A light that appeared to be growing brighter, coming at him at great speed. It was a light he had ever seen before, for it was beautiful in its appearance. Every color of the rainbow threaded through it as it sped toward him, pushing the mist aside as it approached.
Keane could do nothing but stare at it in wonder, his heart filled with warmth and awe. He remained there, waiting for it to reach him, and when it came to within an inch of his face, it stopped dead. For a long moment, it stayed there, flickering in front of him. And then, faster than he had ever seen anything movebefore in his life, it retreated. A second later, he gulped in a great breath of air.
His eyelids fluttered, and the first thing he felt was pain. A deep, throbbing pain in his left side, that made him wince and groan.
“He is waking,” a voice whispered somewhere beside him.
